


Of Passion and Minor Glories

by thrilloffirstlove



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Equestrian, F/F, F/M, Falsettos - Freeform, I Hope This Is Okay, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-23 17:03:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11994141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thrilloffirstlove/pseuds/thrilloffirstlove
Summary: Whizzer is a semi-professional dressage rider with a habit of falling quickly for cute boys and sly smirks. Cordelia wants love- wants someone that she can come home to, and someone who will support her in her up and coming showjumping career. She begins to think that maybe she has an eye on the new stable vet for more reasons than just seeking friendship.Marvin spends his days juggling his job, son, and his son’s mother. Jason wants to ride a horse- and maybe for his dad to stop being so pissed off all of the time. Trina just wants it to be her wedding day; the day when all of her domestic dreams are scheduled to come true. Mendel wants Trina, and that is all there is to say about that.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I finally got around to starting my first Falsettos fic so...here is chapter one. Hope you enjoy it, comment if you did etc etc etc

_Three. Two. One. Breathe._

Cordelia presses into her horse’s side with her calves and they effortlessly clear the jump.

_One. Two. Three. Breathe._

She looks over her shoulder at the next jump, a low oxer. She points her horse toward it, and they round the corner until they are in line with the middle of the jump. She counts down the strides.

_Three. Two. One. Breathe._

She cues, and her horse immediately lifts his knees and clears the obstacle.

_One. Two. Three. Breathe._

She canters a clean circle before slowing to a walk and heading toward the rail, where Whizzer is waiting.

“That was good, ‘Delia! Not bad for coming off of a week’s rest.”

She grins and offers him a high five.

“Thanks! Hugo is so good to me, really. I hope next week’s comp isn’t too hard on him.”

Whizzer raises an eyebrow. “Really, ‘Delia? He’ll be fine. That horse is as fit as he’ll ever be.”

“I guess.” She sighs, and looks down at his ears. “I worry too much, huh?”

Whizzer taps his horse, Alexander VIII, into a walk. Cordelia hastens to follow beside him.

“Yeah, you do. You know that Hugo can easily handle whatever you throw at him, so just let him do his thing.”

“I guess.” Cordelia glances ahead of them, and smirks. “I challenge you, fair knight, to a duel of skill.” She deepens her voice in a sorry attempt to sound like a knight of medieval times. Whizzer chuckles, but nods.

“What’ve you got in mind, my fair lady?”

Cordelia assesses the jump course that has been assembled, and then points to the last oxer.

“That oxer, then the chicken coop, the combination over by the H, and then the brush box. Judged on time and faults. You up for it?”

“You know you’ll beat me,” Whizzer protests, “I am but a lowly dressage king! I know nothing of the finer arts of showjumping.”

“Guess you’ll learn,” Cordelia says, with a wink, and then urges Hugo forward. She leaves Whizzer with an indignant expression on his features.

“I’ll kick your ass!” He yells out to her, and Cordelia only smirks.

“You wish!” She returns. “Don’t forget the timer!”

With that, she sets up Hugo in line with the oxer and cues him toward it. He easily lopes over the oxer, and then the chicken coop, and when Cordelia tells him to round the corner he dutifully switches leads to soar over the combination and finally, the brush box. A clean round. When she rounds the corner yet again and breaks to a walk, she sees Whizzer pouting.

“Oh c’mon, they’re so small! I promise you can manage this whole whopping, what, three feet at most?” She looks pointedly at Whizzer, and he flips his hair.

“Fine. But what do I get when I win?”

Cordelia inwardly chuckles at the thought, but humors him.

“I’ll let you explain to me in explicit detail how shitty the judge was at the Spring Open?”

Whizzer’s eyes blaze in recognition. “That bitch! He totally scored m-“

“Whizzer, money where your mouth is. Go.”

Whizzer sighs, but cues Alexander VIII into a working lope. Cordelia watches distinct amusement as he completes a precise ten-meter circle and then sets off to complete the course. Alexander VIII captures the ground in long, drawn out strides, and practically eats up the arena as he moves. He sails over the oxer, albeit with Whizzer landing roughly on the pommel and sending Cordelia a pained look, and bounds over the chicken coop with no hesitation. Whizzer’s corner is wide, and he ends up approaching the combination at a sharp angle. Alexander VIII ticks the second jump in the combination, but it remains standing. Whizzer cues his horse over the brush box with a foul expression on his face that makes it extremely difficult for Cordelia not to burst into laughter.

“My dick!” He complains as he approaches Cordelia. “I landed so, so utterly wrong.” The sentence dissolves into a whine, and Cordelia manages her most sincere concerned face.

“Let’s call it a draw. You killed your time with that corner though, it added at least five seconds.”

“Yeah,” Whizzer says looking moodily down at his horse’s mane, “but I also killed my dick over that oxer, so who is the real loser here?”

“Your dick?” Cordelia guesses, pointing at the way that Whizzer is cupping his crotch with his free hand. Whizzer sticks out his tongue at her.

“You owe me for this, woman.”

“Oh do I now?” Cordelia counters, drawing her irons up and resting her reins on the pommel of her saddle. “And what do I owe Mister Dressage Deadbeat?”

“Hey!” Whizzer protests, “That was rigged! That judge just wanted into my pants, that’s why.”

Cordelia raises an eyebrow. “And that’s why he scored you so low? Because he wanted your ass? The logic doesn’t add up, Whizzer.”

“Whatever, shut up. You still owe me.”

“I owe you nothing,” Cordelia maintains, but then she considers an impending thought. “I could go for some food right about now though, so why don’t we cool them down and then I’ll take you out to lunch.”

“Oooh, and you’ll pay for it?” Whizzer asks hopefully. Cordelia rolls her eyes.

“‘Course, Whizzer. Now cool down your damn horse because last one in my car gets no say in where we eat.”

Whizzer hurries to obey.

 

 

Cordelia kisses Hugo on his nose before she shuts his stall door.

“Goodbye!” She chimes, and latches the door. Whizzer is watching her in distinct amusement.

“Oh you shut up, I’ve seen how you talk to Pretty Boy.”

Whizzer’s jaw drops and he appears scandalized. “His name is Alexander VIII!”

“Uh-huh,” Cordelia says with sarcasm, eyebrows raised. “Anyway, I’ve seen how you talk to _Pretty Boy,_ and I am a firm believer that you have no right to judge me for how I talk to Hugo.”

Whizzer scoffs. “ _Alexander_ and I discuss our woes like gentlemen, I will have you know. In fact, just last week we were discussing the merits of a well-read suitor.”

Cordelia shakes her head and locks Hugo’s eyes in a conspiratorial gaze.

“Men,” she says, and Hugo snorts in agreement. Or perhaps he snorts at the fine layer of dust on his hay, but Cordelia chooses not to differentiate.

“Women,” Whizzer huffs, as if to test a theory. Hugo is silent. He pouts, in apparent distaste that his plan did not succeed.

Cordelia hangs Hugo’s halter on the door, and the halter’s hardware clangs against the metal of the bars. Someone shouts in the distance, and the voice of a small child screams back. Cordelia makes a face that Whizzer returns.

“Why do kids scream so damn much?” Whizzer questions, tone hard and demeanor suddenly dampened. Cordelia shrugs. She’s mainly apathetic toward children- she certainly doesn’t love them, but she doesn’t hate them either. Whizzer absolutely despises the ground that they have ever walked on.

“Don’t know. If you don’t get in my car soon, though, you’re going to be screaming too. From pain,” she adds, as an afterthought. Whizzer mutters something about ‘miniature heathens’, but he follows Cordelia away from the stall and to her car, sitting stationary in the parking lot.

When they are almost to the car, Cordelia giggles and darts ahead, opening her door and ducking into it before Whizzer can hardly blink.

“I win!” She says brightly, shoving her key into the ignition. Whizzer crooks the side of his mouth up slides into the passenger seat. “Whatever. I guess I’ll resign myself to enduring your hippie-esque, _flawed_ taste in food.”

Cordelia shakes her head at him. “Remember boy, I’m the one that’s paying. You best shut up before I kick you out of my car.”

“You say this, and yet you would never kick out someone as handsome as me,” Whizzer says, leaning back against the headrest and donning a self-satisfied smile.

“I wouldn’t test it,” Cordelia says, “I’ve kicked out prettier boys for far less than insulting my taste in restaurants.”

Whizzer scoffs. “Yeah fuckin’ right. Like you’ve ever had a boy in your car other than me.”

“One day…” Cordelia says, somewhat resigned. She knows that Whizzer is eager to set her up with a man in a heartbeat, but she just finds the idea truly…tiring. Too much for her to fathom or deal with currently, anyway. She pulls out of the parking lot and onto the highway.

“Alright, Italian or Chinese?” She questions Whizzer, who shrugs in apparent dismissal.

“Pick or we’re going to the Organic Deli,” Cordelia threatens, pointing a pen at Whizzer. When she picked it up, she can’t remember.

“Italian,” he says quickly, likely flashing back to the meager options that he had been presented with last time at the Deli, when Cordelia had dragged him there after she had placed first in her showjumping competition. He plucks the pen out of her hand and presses it to the skin of his arm. Cordelia watches out of the corner of her eye as he doodles absently down his skin.

“What about you, oh matchmaker? Found a boy for yourself yet?”

Whizzer shakes his head and a slight smile sneaks within his features.

“You’d know if I had, ‘Delia. No boys for me.” He winks in jest. “I have to focus on my career, you know.”

“Ah yes,” Cordelia’s voice takes on the tone of someone who has realized something that they have never even dreamt of. “The prestigious career of Semi-Professional Dressage Boy. A career the most talented individuals aspire to acquire.”

“That rhymed,” Whizzer says, “have you considered a career in poetry? I’m sure it pays better than Only Decent Showjumper On The Team does.” He moves the tip of the pen to the underside of his wrist and continues to doodle in small, precise movements.

“Doubt it. What about you? Considered a career in the arts? Perhaps drawing- with a pen?”

“Shut up.” He tosses the pen to the floor, and it rolls backward until it hits the bottom of his seat. “Where’re we going, anyway?”

“Some new Italian place, I don’t know, I saw it on the internet somewhere. It has good reviews so why the fuck not.” And it’s supposedly fancy, Cordelia adds to herself, so she won’t have to listen to Whizzer bending over backwards to establish how much better he is than everyone else attending the restaurant. She doesn’t even like to think about the Deli Incident.

“If it’s horrible, you’re paying,” Whizzer says, sounding skeptical about the whole situation. Cordelia pulls into a parking lot that flanks the road.

“I’m already paying, douche. If it sucks you can write a bitchy review online and tell everyone else why they’re wrong.”

“You know me so well,” Whizzer says, in a mocking honey-sweet tone. Cordelia flips him off as she gets out of the car.

“C’mon, food critic. You can add it to your ever-expanding resume.”

 

The food isn’t terrible. Whizzer only mimes gagging once, which Cordelia counts as a personal win. She’s fairly certain it was directed at an old lady’s perfume, and not even the food, which makes it even better. She has no doubt that Whizzer will still write a condensing, critical review though. It is something akin to a rite of passage for new restaurants, and Cordelia is certain that somewhere, Whizzer has internet minions that are ready and willing to eat up whatever criticism he has.

What people do in their free time astounds her.

Once she drops off the truly unique creature that is Whizzer Brown, Cordelia drives home. Someday she’ll have someone to welcome her home, she’s sure of it. Or to sing along to the radio with while she’s stuck in traffic.

Someday, the mythical land of Someday. At least in Someday, anything is possible. Even love.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> whizzer and cordelia's friendship is honestly friendship goals
> 
> also i just installed grammarly and all it does is yell at me about unnecessary commas that I proceed not to fix

Whizzer sneaks Pretty Boy one additional carrot before holding out his empty hand for the horse to sniff.

“No more, okay? You’re already spoiled enough as it is, and I’m just making it worse. I can’t help it though, you handsome man.”

“And you mock me for how I talk to Hugo,” Cordelia says, appearing beside him. Whizzer shrugs in a half-hearted attempt to play it off.

“What can I do. He’s a gorgeous, giant man who deserves his carrots.” Whizzer scratches Pretty Boy’s muzzle and bids him adieu with one more treat. He can’t help it, okay. Pretty Boy expends so much effort that directly correlates to Whizzer’s gain, so he can’t help but to compulsively reward him with treats and kind words.

Whizzer turns to Cordelia.

“Hey ‘Delia? Will you come with me to my appointment today? I changed it from Saturday because-”

“-Of that show you can’t live without going to, I know. ‘Course. What time is it?”

Whizzer smiles in relief. It’s not that he _doubted_ that Cordelia would accompany him to his doctor’s appointment, he just still feels a tinge of apprehension whenever he mentions anything related to his condition to others.

“Ah, I think it’s at three-thirty. Wait, is it four? No, yeah, it’s three-thirty.” At Cordelia’s chuckle, he directs a “shut up”.

“You really do have the memory of an old man,” she chides, and he rolls his eyes.

“My charming personality makes up for my lack of substantial memory,” he reminds her, a fact that he has held tight to since he thought of it.

“We’ll go with that,” she says, sounding skeptical. Whizzer takes mock offense at the statement and protests with vigor.

“It’s true!” He laments, and Cordelia pretends not to be able to hear him. Whizzer huffs, but gives it up quickly.

“What time do we need to leave?” Cordelia asks, ever the planner. Whizzer thinks for a moment, calculates math in his head, which, in his opinion, is some sort of unconstitutional mental strain. He tosses out a random number.

“Two fifteen?” He says, sounding only slightly unsure.

Cordelia hands a carrot to Hugo, who happily chomps it down.

“Try two forty-five. Clinic’s only a half hour away, and some of us don’t have a waiting fetish.”

“A low blow,” Whizzer declares, but doesn’t correct her. She waits a moment, perhaps waiting for him to speak.

“…Which is now,” she finishes. “It’s like two forty-three right now.”

“Oh. Alright, let’s go.” Whizzer doesn’t particularly _want_ to drive, so he doesn’t bring it up. Cordelia takes her car keys out of her pocket and begins to swing them absently anyway, so Whizzer leads her in the direction of her own car. He’s already sweating in anticipation- he should be used to this by now, he knows that. He’s been doing it every four months for the past year and some, it’s not like it’s new.

Not like the first appointment. Thank _God_ that it’s no longer like the first appointment was.

“So,” Cordelia says, addressing the lull in conversation, “Is it just a normal appointment? Anything new I should know about?”

Whizzer smiles wryly. “That’s the doctor’s job to tell me. I sincerely hope that there is not.”

Whizzer’s palms begin to become clammy at the thought of any new developments. From his understanding, any new developments tend to be negative ones.

“I’m sure that you’re perfectly fine,” Cordelia says, perhaps in a half-hearted attempt to reassure him. Although Whizzer appreciates the sentiment, he can’t help but worry about the upcoming appointment.

Cordelia glances over at him as they are getting into the car, and nods definitively.

“We’re getting ice cream, on me, afterwards. No matter what the doctor says.

And. Well. Who in their right mind can say no to ice cream?

 

“Whizzer?”

Whizzer’s head jerks up at the question, his hands tightening onto the plastic waiting room chair that is already coated in his sweaty handprints. Cordelia rests her hand on his shoulder.

“That’s us,” she replies, thankfully sparing him from having to reply. The nurse nods, faux smile showing teeth, and motions for them to follow her. Whizzer is infinitely grateful that she doesn’t question Cordelia’s presence. Perhaps she thinks that the woman is his girlfriend. As if that could be farther from the truth.

Cordelia walks up beside him and bumps shoulders with him. When he remains stiff, she clasps her hand with his and runs her thumb over his palm in reassurance. He manages to shoot her a weak, wavering smile.

 _Damnit._ Why can’t he get past these stupid fucking nerves that he gets at every appointment? He should be _past_ this. His hand tightens in Cordelia’s, and she just sends him a sympathetic look.

“It’ll be fine,” she says. And, the thing is, Whizzer _knows_ that. He does. He just cannot help but run over a million and a half negative possibilities in his mind. Because there is always that _what if._ What if it’s progressed. What if his body isn’t fighting it anymore. What if the medicine stopped working. What if he’s going to die. What if he’s going to die now.

He simply cannot help it, and he hates himself for it.

All too soon for Whizzer’s anxiety, they reach the examination room. The nurse informs them that someone will arrive to help them soon, and that they should just sit tight. Before she leaves, she hands Whizzer a gown and instructs him to strip down to his underwear and then put it on.

“Cordelia?” Whizzer asks as soon as the nurse shuts the door behind her. His sweating palms and shaking hands have already betrayed him anyway, and he cannot seem to contain his unease now that they are actually in the room. He fiddles with the gown, unfolding it and carefully laying the strings over his lap.

“Yeah? Here, lemme sit with you.” She pushes on his shoulder to prompt him to slide over a few inches on the table so that she can fit beside him. He smiles slightly and grabs her hand to pull her onto the table.

“Be honest. Do you think the tests will show anything new? Have I looked worse lately? Have I been getting sick and not noticing, or, or-”

“Whizzer. No. For one, you would definitely know if you had been getting sick more, you’re the biggest baby when you get so much as a cold. Truthfully? I can’t promise anything, you know that. I’m not a doctor. But if I had to guess? You’ll be fine. You haven’t been feeling different, right?”

Whizzer shakes his head. Nothing more than his paranoia about impending illness heightening, no actual illness.

“Then you’ll be _fine,_ honey. There’s no reason that anything would have gotten worse.”

“I guess.” He attempts a controlled breath. He’ll be fine. Fine.

He finds himself wishing that he could convince himself of that small, simple fact.

Remembering the gown, Whizzer pulls his shirt over his head and steps onto the ground in order to rid himself of his pants.

“Should I turn around?” Cordelia jokes, giggling a bit, and Whizzer gives her a withering look.

“Of course it wouldn’t do much good after all the times I’ve seen you strip while drunk,” she says, pretending to muse on the idea and consider what she should do. She is still holding her finger to her chin when Whizzer climbs back up onto the table, now clad in the stiff paper gown.

Cordelia leans her head on his shoulder and draws pictures with her finger onto his palm. He lets her, for one because they are alone and there is no one to see and damage his pride, and for two because the reassurance _is_ nice. Even if he wouldn’t normally allow himself to accept it.

They stay like that, in an odd sort of paused state, until there is a knock on the door and then, after a moment, it is opened. A nurse enters, one that Whizzer has never met before. She looks kind though, and has crinkles around her eyes that suggest that she smiles often.

“Hello Whizzer, I’m Sarah,” she says, holding out a hand. He shakes it, and she turns to Cordelia, who has reluctantly lifted her head off of his shoulder.

“Are you his girlfriend?” She asks, an unspoken question in the air. Do you know? Did he bring you here to tell you?

“No,” she answers, voice faux-cheerful, although probably only Whizzer could recognize its insincerity. “I’m his friend. I’m here for moral support.”

Sarah backs off slightly.

“Okay,” she says. “I’m going to have to ask you to move, there’s a chair right over there that you can sit in.”

Cordelia obliges, and slides off of the table. She gives Whizzer a thumbs up and moves to sit in the offered chair.

Sarah busies herself with taking Whizzer’s blood pressure. He makes a face at Cordelia when the blood pressure cuff tightens around his arm, and she makes one back to match his.

“So, Whizzer, have you noticed any unusual symptoms lately?” Sarah asks, taking note of his blood pressure reading.

“No. Uh, yeah, no, not really. Other than being tired a lot but that’s pretty normal for me.” Whizzer fidgets, finger tapping the surface of the table. Sarah hums in response.

“Any concerning physical changes? Any redness, or-”

“No,” Whizzer cuts her off quickly. “Nothing like that.”

“Alright. I’ll just have you step on the scale and then we’ll draw blood to run some blood work.”

Whizzer pushes himself off of the table to step onto the scale that is located in the corner of the room, and grimaces slightly at the number that it shows.

Sarah records his weight and height and then indicates for him to return to the table. She scribbles down some notes onto her pieces of paper, and then looks up to smile at him.

“All of your vitals are well within healthy range, you’ve done a great job staying fit and healthy. Dr. Barren will want to run some blood tests to make sure that your CD4 count and viral load are staying consistent, but other than that you are staying perfectly healthy.”

Whizzer releases a sigh of distinct relief. “Thank you, thank you so much.”

Sarah smiles. “Of course, dear. Let me just grab that blood, and then you two can sit tight and Dr. Barren will be here soon.”

Sarah wraps Whizzer’s arm and locates the vein, and then pulls blood out of his arm. Once she has a satisfactory amount, she gathers the vials and smiles at them as she leaves the room.

As soon as the door closes, Cordelia is up out of her seat and back next to Whizzer on the exam table.

“See?” she says, tone much in the vein of “I-told-you-so”. Whizzer smiles sheepishly at her.

“You were right,” he concedes. “I was just nervous, okay? I’m _still_ nervous, actually, because something could still show up on those blood tests.”

“ _Nothing_ will show up on the blood tests,” Cordelia says firmly. “Nothing at all. You’ve been taking good care of yourself and taking your medication so you’ll be fine.”

“I guess.” This time it’s Whizzer who leans his head into Cordelia’s shoulder; the stress that he has manufactured is beginning to drain all of the energy out of him.

“Why do doctors take so damn long?” he mumbles into Cordelia’s shoulder.

“Maybe ‘cause they know how long you take to get ready so their giving you a taste of your own medicine,” she suggests, and if Whizzer could see her face he is sure that she would be smirking.

“Shut up,” he says, but it sounds pathetic, even to his own ears. Cordelia runs her fingers through his hair, and he reaches up to bat her hand away.

“I spent a long time on that, you know,” he says. He shudders to think of the amount of money his hair costs him a day what with the amount of hair product that he uses.

“I know, but I also don’t care,” Cordelia says, in her I’m-more-logical-than-you voice. Whizzer has to concede the point.

Finally the door opens yet again, this time to reveal Dr. Barren.

“Hello Whizzer, hello Cordelia,” she greets them. “Whizzer, have you been staying healthy? Taking your medication?”

“You know it,” Whizzer says, a bit more at ease now that he is face-to-face with a medical professional that he knows and is used to.

“Wonderful. I’m just going to check your heart rate and breathing and then I’ll do a quick physical- Whizzer, are you comfortable having Cordelia in the room for that?”

“Yeah, of course,” he answers, extremely used to the question. Cordelia slips off of the table and returns to her chair.

“Nothing I haven’t seen,” she reminds the doctor, who rolls her eyes.

“I know, but _you_ know that legally I have to ask that.”

“Every time,” Whizzer adds.

Dr. Barren checks his heart rate, notes it, and then completes his physical. Cordelia hums, bored, and Whizzer passes the time by making faces at her and receiving some in return.

“So Whizzer, now all those questions that I have to ask you every time we do this. Are you sexually active?”

Whizzer raises an eyebrow. “What do you think?”

Dr. Barren rests a hand on her hip. “I have to remind you to continue taking your medication, use condoms, and inform potential sexual partners of you condition before you expose them to it.”

“‘Course, Doc. I’ve been exercising too, since that’s your next question.”

She brightens. “Oh yes, your dressage career. How is that coming along?”

“Pretty well. I have a competition in a week where I’ll be competing at Prix St Georges.” At the doctor’s questioning look, he elaborates.

“It’s a level, the one above Fourth Level. It’ll be my first time competing at that difficulty, but I know Alexander and I can do it.”

Dr. Barren nods as if she understands, and motions that he is free to re-situate his gown.

“Well you seem to be perfectly healthy and managing your HIV well, Whizzer. I’ll give you a call when we get the test results back, but I don’t anticipate them to show any problems.”

“Thank God.” Whizzer locks eyes with Cordelia in a fit of relief, and she raises her eyebrows.

“Did you expect anything else? _I told you so.”_ She says. Dr. Barren collects her paperwork.

“I’ll leave you to get dressed, and you can square away the date for your next appointment at the front desk. See you, Whizzer.”

“I’ll see you in four months,” he chimes, and she leaves the room.

“All’s fine.” He says to Cordelia, just to say it out loud again so that he himself can hear it.

“Well, duh.” She replies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so charlotte appears! yay!

“Whizzer, I don’t know. I’m going to fail. I’ve never done a full test in front of- well, anyone but you.”

Cordelia wrings her hands, up until now she truly thought that she could bring herself to do this but now-

“‘Delia, you’ll do fine. Better than fine. Fantastic. I have faith in you.”

So Whizzer _says_ , and yet Cordelia still can’t be wavered to be convinced.

“But there’ll be a million people there, and I’ll get _last_ in front of all of them! This is an important show, everything there will be professional.”

Whizzer sighs. “Look, you can drop down to Training Level if you want, but I know you can manage first. You’re a talented rider, there’s no reason why you’d have trouble.”

It’s an old argument, if you count two and a half weeks as old. Cordelia’s confidence in her ability seemed to dissipate over the expanse of time, and now that the show is in only two days, the task seems daunting.

“I guess. I just-I’m used to knowing what I’m doing.”

“And for once,” Whizzer declares, “I will be more prepared than you for something. So let’s mark it on the calendar and go to the show!”

Cordelia can’t quite put a finger on it, but there is something that she doesn’t agree with in that statement. Something…off. Well, whatever. It’s not like she’ll die instantly as soon as she enters the arena or anything. She voices that.

“Well, at least if I die of a stress-induced heart attack I won’t have to do the test.”

“I love the optimism!” Whizzer says, placing his bridle on Pretty Boy’s hook. The hook used to have a nameplate that read “Alexander VIII” but it has been scribbled over to read “Pretty Boy”. In faint pencil, “Alexander VIII” is written over that.

“So you’ll go?” he questions, pouting at her hopefully. Cordelia sighs in assent.

“You know what, fuck it. Sure.”

Whizzer’s features light up into a smile.

“Thanks ‘Delia! I knew you wouldn’t abandon your dearest friend in his time of strife.” His words are somewhat diluted by his cocky grin and sparkling eyes.

“My dearest friend should be careful, he only gets so many favors.”

“Ominous,” Whizzer takes Cordelia’s bridle and hangs it on the hook labeled “Hugo”.

“I try.” Cordelia hands him her splint boots, and he places them onto the shelf before jumping down off of the mounting block he was standing on.

Cordelia waves goodbye to Whizzer and sets off to say goodbye to Hugo before she leaves. She hears coughing from a stall in the row next to Hugo’s, so she sets off to investigate.

Mentally, she counts the stalls until she gets to the one that the coughing is coming from. Five. That means…that she has no idea who’s horse inhabits that stall.

Cordelia peers over the stall door and comes face-to-face with a miserable looking older horse, a woman that she vaguely recognizes from her dressage team standing in the corner, and a woman that she doesn’t recognize listening to the horse’s heart with a stethoscope.

Cordelia waves to the girl in the corner, who she presumes to be the horse’s owner. The woman is wringing her hands and gazing at her horse, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed.

The woman listening to the horse’s heart straightens up and spots Cordelia.

“Oh hey! I’m Charlotte DuBois, the new stable vet. I don’t know if you’ve heard.”

“I haven’t. What happened to Greg?”

Cordelia wracks her brain for any snippets of conversation that she has heard regarding a new vet but she can’t think of any.

“I believe that he retired. Something about a sudden family emergency?” Charlotte’s easy smile is intoxicating. Cordelia snaps her eyes away from it when she realizes that Charlotte is waiting for a response.

“That’s a shame, he was a damn good vet. I hope whatever happened in his family turns out alright.”

Cordelia glances at the patient, who looks like would he request sedation if he could so that he doesn’t have to hear their chattering.

“Well, it was nice to meet you Dr. Charlotte! I’m sure I’ll see you around, _Whizzer’s_ horse is very accident prone. My friend,” she tacks on as an afterthought, realizing that Charlotte probably has no idea who Whizzer is.

“Oh goodness. Well I hope for his sake that he won’t see me as often as you seem to think that he will.”

Cordelia shrugs lightly. “I hope for _your_ sake that you don’t have to deal with _Whizzer_. But yeah, I’ll see you around.”

“See you!”

Charlotte waves goodbye to Cordelia with a bright smile. Cordelia grins at her in return. Even when she reaches Hugo’s stall, the smile still lingers on her lips.

 

“What should I do, Hugo?” Cordelia leans into his side, her face pressed to his mane. Hugo, on his part, simply continues munching on his newly prepared grain.

“Charlotte seems nice. And I could have a friend other than Whizzer. Which, that’s great, except for the actual required social interaction and talking part.” Cordelia bites her lip in an attempt to kill the smile that seems to grow even more whenever she thinks about Charlotte. Hugo remains stubbornly silent.

“Maybe I should ask her out to coffee or ice cream or something. The ice cream place that Whizzer and I went to yesterday after his appointment was pretty good.”

She is, in fact, aware that she’s talking to an animal that won’t ever answer her, but in some ways that’s a godsend. He can’t punish her for what she says either, or how she says it.

“Do you think that it’s too obnoxious if I just randomly ask her to be friends? I’m so used to Whizzer, I’m not sure how those mythical “normal human beings” conduct their daily social interactions. Oh God, I really do need more friends.”

“Does he talk back?”

Cordelia jumps at the familiar voice from outside of the stall and hastens to stand up straight.

“Only when I ask him to,” she jokes, turning to face Charlotte. The vet is still clad in her filthy work jeans and what appears to be a sturdy denim jacket.

“Good to know. It’d make my job ten times easier if they could all do that,” she says, leaning her arms on the stall door. “What’s his name?”

“Hugo. He’s my giant puppy dog.” Cordelia’s voice is lilting, higher than normal. Sweat gathers in a pool within the crevices of skin on her palms, and she wipes them on her jeans to dismiss it.

“He certainly is adorable. How long have you had him?”

“Um,” Cordelia mentally adds up the years in her head. “Since he was four. So…five years?” Has it really been that long?

Realizing that she hasn’t asked Charlotte anything about herself, Cordelia hastens to inquire, “Do you have any of your own?”

Charlotte reaches over the stall to stroke Hugo’s neck. He turns his head in a sort of half acknowledgement and then turns back to his food. Well. That’s more than Cordelia ever gets.

“I’ve got two. Isabella, my appendix mare, and Stardust, my little brat of a mini. They keep each other entertained though, which is a relief. I can’t even come close to keeping up with both of them, especially after work.”

Charlotte’s hair blends in so nicely with her skin, and her dark brown eyes match the tendrils of air that are blowing into her face, even though she keeps shoving them away. Cordelia starts, and blinks, hard, twice, when she realizes that she has been fixated on Charlotte’s features for the last minute of the conversation.

“Oh, uh, they sound adorable.” In a futile attempt to pull herself together, Cordelia runs her fingers through Hugo’s mane until it is all flat and laying on one side in a uniform fashion.

“They really are. Your big guy is quite handsome as well, I image he is quite talented at his job.”

“Yeah, he definitely is.” Some of the tension melts away when the conversation turns back to something that Cordelia is familiar with. And then she promptly ruins all semblance of calm within her mind.

“Hey, would you want to go get coffee sometime? I just-um, I like to meet new people, especially people who will be here a lot, and, um, since you’re a vet and all, I can definitely see that you’d be here a lot and…” Oh no, she’s rambling again. Cheeks tinged red, Cordelia slams her mouth shut. Charlotte is giving her a soft smile through, and her eyes present no evident malice.

“That sounds great, actually. It’d be nice to get to know someone here in a situation other than when their horse is injured. Or sick. Or just having a routine visit that somehow still invokes fear among horse owners.”

“Well I mean, there’s always the chance that something could be wrong,” Cordelia offers. Just like Whizzer’s blood tests. She doesn’t voice that analogy.

“Don’t I know it. What day are you thinking for coffee?”

Cordelia considers, but her brain can’t seem to conjure up a single commitment that she has made. She knows that they exist, her brain is just…focused on other aspects of her consciousness. Like the way that Charlotte rests her hand in her palm, looking so content. So completely at peace.

“Uh. When would work for you?”

“How do you feel about Wednesday? I’ve got the afternoon off at the clinic and my partner is on call past one.”

“That sounds perfect!” Too enthusiastic. Dial it down a notch. Inwardly, Cordelia winches at her own obvious obnoxiousness. Luckily, Charlotte doesn’t seem to notice.

“Wednesday it is. I’ll leave you and your talking horse to it, only tell him good things about me.”

Charlotte departs with a playful wink, and Cordelia sinks her weight back into Hugo’s side.

“That happened.”

Her horse doesn’t even give her the decency of snorting in agreement.

 

“Whizzer, you have to help me. What am I supposed to wear?”

Whizzer huffs, raising an eyebrow from his position sprawled over, God only knows how, the entire couch.

“You know, it would be so much more useful if you just let me set you up with a hot date. There’s this guy that works at the bakery, you’d love him. And God, his _ass…”_

Cordelia waves her hand at him in a dismissing gesture.

“If he has such a great ass, why don’t _you_ date him?”

Whizzer grimaces, looking like he just ate a whole lemon.

“He’s _straight_.”

Cordelia places her hands on her hips and tilts her head.

“I’m straight too you know. In case you forgot.”

Whizzer rolls his eyes in apparent disdain. “You will always hold your prestigious honor of being my straight best friend, don’t worry. Now, go fetch me your closet and I’ll see what I can salvage.”

“Get your lazy ass off of my couch and come to my room.”

“You know, it just sounds so much better when pretty _boys_ say it.” Never the less, Whizzer follows her with only minimal whining protests.

“Tough luck. I’m going to coffee with a pretty girl and you have to find me something to wear, _please._ ”

They reach her room, and Whizzer begins to systematically sort through her closet. He grins to himself, some sort of inside joke.

“What?” Cordelia demands, not at _all_ in the mood for this.

“Charlotte and Cordelia sitting’ in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g. First comes-”

“Shut it, Whizzer. I have better things to do than listen to your third-grade playground rhymes.”

Whizzer turns around to face her.

“Hey. ‘Delia. What’s wrong? You’re being…uncharacteristically cruel today.”

Just like that, she deflates.

“I’m nervous I guess. I suck at making friends, it’s like…incredibly obvious. If I didn’t have you I would be some bitter old cat lady sitting in a window and clutching onto the last threads of my sanity.”

Whizzer shakes his head. “Oh ‘Delia, you wouldn’t be a bitter old cat lady. You can’t stand cats. You’d be a bitter old _dog_ lady.” On second thought, he amends, “Or perhaps an old tarantula lady. Wait, is that a thing? Do bitter old tarantula ladies exist?”

“Probably. I can see it. But I think we’re both wrong. I’d be bitter and alone without a single pet to comfort me.”

“Except for Hugo.”

“Except for Hugo,” Cordelia concedes, smiling a bit at the mention of the horse. “He could live in my living room and eat anyone who tried to enter the house.”

Whizzer chuckles and turns back to the closet.

“That, my dear, is why you would be bitter and alone. Especially if Hugo ate me too.”

Cordelia sighs, defeated. “Maybe he would eat me instead?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spoiler alert: cordelia aint straight


End file.
